


hair and make-up

by the human eyes emoji (nicole_writes)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Sylvain can't handle that fact, Especially right before ANOTHER lingerie shoot, Established Relationship, F/M, In which Ingrid did a shoot without telling her boyfriend, Wall Sex, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26446318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/the%20human%20eyes%20emoji
Summary: Ingrid’s lips part as she inhales sharply. “Just don’t fuck up the hair or make-up too badly,” she breathes.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: Fódlan Quarterly





	hair and make-up

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the third chapter of my silly texting fic [paying rent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26380174/chapters/64256302) which has somehow spiralled completely out of control to now include a Modelvain and Modelgrid agenda with more on the way from a bunch of wonderful creators in the Sylvgrid Discord. 
> 
> This chapter....is a direct continuation to the end of chapter 3 with entirely too much worldbuilding for a smut fic.

As much as she hates to admit it, Ingrid is starting to get used to the chaos behind the scenes at V Fashions shoots. Hilda and her brother Holst run a tight ship and everything is scheduled down to the minute. 

This whole shoot has been mostly centred around Sylvain, but they’ve combined it with another shoot for Hilda’s newest femme power line. This means that there are all sorts of famous women running around on set: Dorothea, Ingrid’s superstar friend who is also a V Fashions brand ambassador, Marianne von Edmund, Hilda’s close friend who is a business heiress, Lysithea von Ordelia, the youngest ever winner of the Indech Medal for Mathematics, Mercedes Martritz, a humanitarian activist, Annette Dominic, a pop idol, and Leonie Pinelli, a stuntwoman and Crestagram personal trainer mogul. 

According to rumours, both Dorothea’s girlfriend Petra (the actual Princess of Brigid) and Edelgard, Emperor of Adrestia, were invited as well, but it seems that their schedules were too busy to fit Hilda in. Bernadetta, the anonymous artist, had vehemently denied Hilda’s attempts, though not for lack of trying. 

Because of the chaos, it’s easy enough to dodge out of hair and make-up once her hair is mostly completed. Ingrid and Sylvain’s couple shoot is in 45 minutes and they’ll have a touch-up call in 30 minutes to actually get fitted. Which gives her approximately 20 minutes to deal with Sylvain’s apparent _problem_. 

She pulls her thin silk slip on and slides her phone into one of the pockets. She creeps out of the hair and make-up room and behind the back of the set towards the rest of the dressing rooms. She passes Dorothea and Marianne’s labelled rooms, and the one set up for Lysithea. Mercedes’s is the one right next to Sylvain’s and Ingrid thanks every god she can think of that Mercedes and Annette are doing their shoots right now. 

Ingrid tries the handle of Sylvain’s door and is pleased to see that her boyfriend had listened to her advice and left it unlocked. She opens the door and slips inside, closing the door behind her. Sylvain is sitting on the couch in the room and he springs to his feet when she enters. 

He’s wearing some approximation of a male version of her silk shift which is untied and gaping open over his bare chest and boxer-briefs. Ingrid smiles at him and Sylvain just lifts the object in his left hand which is April’s FQ magazine, opened to her and Dorothea’s two-page lingerie spread. 

Ingrid bites her lip and smiles shyly. “Surprise?”

“Babe,” Sylvain says, shaking his head. He drops the magazine on the couch and puts his hands on her hips. “When did this even happen? I know you did the athletics line with Leonie, but _holy fuck_ , Ingrid. When did you do the shoot with Dorothea?”

Ingrid laughs lightly. “Same time actually. Hilda and Dorothea sprung them both on me at the same time and I dunno, it was kind of fun.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “So you were in back-to-back FQ editions in March and April, and just elected not to tell me about this one?” He tugged on her hips, pulling her closer to him. 

Ingrid squirms in his grasp, but he doesn't let her go. “We were already planning this shoot,” she says, referencing the mid-May shoot, “for your birthday and Hilda wanted me to do the couples session with you.” She taps him on the chest, parting his flimsy robe further. “She’s hard to say no to.”

“Mmm,” Sylvain hums, his eyes darting to her lips. 

Ingrid leans forward, pressing herself against him. “You asked me to come here, right?”

Sylvain leans down, ghosting his lips against hers. “Where is okay for me to worship you, Ing?”

Ingrid’s lips part as she inhales sharply. “Just don’t fuck up the hair or make-up too badly,” she breathes. 

She closes the gap and kisses him, leaning into him, and sliding one hand up into his hair. Sylvain immediately starts pulling at her slip, his hands fidgeting with the ties on the front. Because he’s Sylvain, he has entirely too much practice with this sort of thing, the ties are undone in moments and he’s pushing the silky fabric off her shoulders, leaving her in the equivalent of a thong and bandeau. 

He smirks into the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue as he trails his hands up and down her bare sides as she shivers. Ingrid, paying him back, pushes her leg between his, pressing her hip against his groin. She’s momentarily surprised by the fact that he’s already hardening against her, but then she remembers his freak out about not being able to leave the dressing room. 

Sylvain breaks the kiss to kiss down the side of her neck and Ingrid grabs his hair, yanking him back. He blinks innocently at her and she frowns. 

“No marks!” she scolds. “In thirty minutes we’re both going to be very naked in front of a group of our friends. No marks, Sylvain.”

He nods. “I know, I know. Same goes to you.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “You’re way worse than me.”

Sylvain chuckles and presses a kiss to the hinge of her jaw. He sucks lightly but then pulls away, moving onto a new area. Ingrid closes her eyes and focuses on her grip on his hair and slowly circling her hips against his. Sylvain growls and his hands grip the fabric of her bandeau. He works it up over her chest and Ingrid drops her arms to slide it over her head. 

Sylvain pulls back, letting her strip out of it, and he grabs her hips again. “What do you want, Ing?” he asks huskily. 

Ingrid reaches up, pushing his own robe off his shoulders and Sylvain lets it drift to the ground. She toys with the band of his underwear and blinks at him innocently. 

“I think,” she says, sliding one hand under the cloth and curling it loosely around the base of his length, “that I forgot to lock the door.”

She pulls her hand back and walks away, heading back to the door where she turns and watches Sylvain as she turns the lock on the door, cementing their privacy. She picks up her robe and drapes it over the corner of the vanity, making sure that her phone hasn’t fallen out to get stepped on. Sylvain’s eyes are dark as she crosses the small room back to him. He backs up when she pushes on his chest until his back thuds against the wall behind him. 

Ingrid leans in close enough to almost kiss him, but then she slides her hands down, grabbing the band of his underwear. She pulls it down slowly and bends her knees, sliding down in front of him. Sylvain groans before she even touches him and she smirks to herself. She lets his underwear settle over his feet as she curls her right hand around the base of his cock. 

Ingrid pumps her hand slowly, looking up at the heady look on her boyfriend’s face as she works her hand over him. Sylvain’s smug look shutters and his head tips back as he lets out a low groan. 

“Fuck, Ingrid,” he mutters. 

She adds her other hand and works them together in twisting motions at the centre and Sylvain’s hips jerk in front of her. Ingrid leans forward then, wrapping her lips around the tip of him. Sylvain swears louder and Ingrid slides forward, taking the first inch or so into her mouth.

Her hand stays occupied on the rest of him while she focuses on his tip with her tongue, twisting it around as she hums against him. Sylvain’s hips twitch and Ingrid isn’t quite prepared for it and she pulls off of him for a moment, massaging her jaw. She shifts her hands, pushing one against his hips to push him back against the wall.

He looks down at her and she narrows her eyes. “Stay put,” she orders. 

Sylvain’s mouth falls open when she takes him back into her mouth, this time, focusing more on length rather than technique. She takes as much as she can until she nearly gags and then she works her tongue along the bottom of him as she rocks back on her knees. Sylvain groans and she pushes him back against the wall so he doesn’t move. 

He’s brutally hard and heavy in her mouth and Ingrid has never been entirely amazing at this part, but she does her best. She swallows as much of him as she can and rocks back and forth, bobbing her head up and down his length as he moans above her. When she finds herself in desperate need of air, she pulls her head back with a wet pop and inhales sharply. 

She massages his length with her hand, slick with her own saliva, as she catches her breath and then she leans in, licking a stripe along the side and Sylvain groans. Her fingers trace his underside down towards his balls and Sylvain lets out a string of louder curses and then he grabs her shoulder, yanking her back. 

Ingrid nearly topples onto her ass as she blinks up at him. “I’m not done,” she says, gesturing to his weeping length which is still painfully hard. 

Sylvain huffs and grabs her arm, yanking her up to her feet. “Fucking hell, Ingrid, if you suck me off I’ll have nothing in the tank for you.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “This wasn’t about me. This is about you not popping a boner during a lingerie photoshoot.” She nudges his cock lightly with her thigh. “Not going out there with a raging and half-treated one.”

Sylvain kisses her on the forehead. “Hey,” he comforts, deflecting, “you should touch up your lipstick, shouldn’t you?”

Ingrid huffs, but he nudges her away and she walks over to the vanity. Her lipstick is, of course, smudged and she wipes the smears away from the corner of her lips and then picks up the glass of water on the vanity, taking a sip and swishing her mouth out. She spits it into the trash can and turns back to face Sylvain. 

He’s leaning over his bag, looking for something, which is a funny image when he’s butt naked and obviously hard. Ingrid walks over to him, but he straightens up before she gets to him. He kisses her, leaning hard into the kiss, and backs her up back towards the vanity and the shared wall with Mercedes’s dressing room. 

Ingrid’s back thuds against the wall and she winces as a hairpin pokes at her scalp. Sylvain’s hands wander, pushing down her underwear and Ingrid wriggles out of it. Sylvain pulls back out of the kiss and drops his hands to the outside of her thighs. Ingrid yelps as he effortlessly picks her up, lifting her over his hips. He pins her against the wall and smirks at her cheekily. 

“I had a better use for the raging boner,” Sylvain says cheerfully. 

He adjusts his grip on her and strokes her clit in a slow circle and Ingrid lets her head fall back against the wall as her mouth forms a loose o-shape. Sylvain rubs a bit harder, putting more force behind his touch. Ingrid whines and shifts, but Sylvain has her trapped against the wall with nothing to do but hold onto him. 

She moans when he increases his pace further and then gasps sharply when he sinks a finger into her. Ingrid bucks against him as he holds his finger in, watching her face with a heady curiosity in his eyes. He curls in and Ingrid whimpers, clenching her thighs and tightening her muscles around him. 

“More, Ing?”

She nods helplessly and Sylvain starts to move his hand, starting slow. He doesn’t stick with one finger past about five thrusts, because then he’s pushing two in and working her clit at the same time and Ingrid moans louder. She can only really hope that Mercedes is still shooting because it would be the absolute worst thing _ever_ if she had returned to her dressing room. 

Ingrid’s orgasm catches her off guard because Sylvain pushes hard at her clit in tandem with a hard stroke of his fingers into her and she comes with a gasp. She trembles against him, and Sylvain slowly withdraws his hands before he lets her down, but keeps her caged against him at the wall. Ingrid’s legs are shaky and her ears ringing as she watches Sylvain rip open a condom and roll it down over himself. 

She doesn’t get a chance to protest their lack of time before call since he lifts her right back up and she whines as he rubs his tip along her slit. She cants her hips to him and he sinks in slowly, pushing her back against the wall again. Ingrid has given up on caring if her hair gets ruined and she links her ankles behind Sylvain’s back, pulling him closer. 

Sylvain grunts as he thrusts into her and Ingrid tilts her head back, gasping silently. She’s still oversensitive from her first high, but Sylvain has been left on the edge for long enough that he doesn’t particularly seem to care, thrusting in at a pace that leaves her completely breathless. He’s strong and Ingrid finds herself clinging to him desperately as each jerk of his hips leaves her whining and breathless. 

She’s drawn from the moment temporarily when her phone starts vibrating on the vanity. Sylvain freezes, pushed in hilt-deep, and looks at her phone. Ingrid almost unbalances them both as she twists in his grip, snatching the buzzing device off the table. Hilda’s name is on the screen and panic shoots through Ingrid’s body. She tenses up and Sylvain grunts as she clenches around him.

Ingrid leans back against the wall and glares at Sylvain. “Not a sound,” she hisses. 

She answers the call. “Hi, Hilda.”

“Hi, Ingrid!” Hilda greets, over the call. “This is your ten-minute warning to your fifteen-minute call! Have you been to hair and make-up yet?”

Ingrid is about to respond when Sylvain starts sliding out of her and she bites her lip hard to contain her gasp. She glares at him as he withdraws slowly and he just smirks as he then pounds into her, leaving Ingrid to squeeze her eyes shut and hope she doesn’t moan. He continues to move and she slaps a hand over his mouth so that he doesn’t say anything stupid. 

“Ingrid?” Hilda asks, sounding concerned. 

“Sorry!” Ingrid blurts. “I’ve been to hair and make-up already. I accidentally fell asleep after though and I’m still a bit tired,” she lies through her teeth. 

“Oh, no worries. Just make sure you’re ready for call, yeah? Do a touch-up on your hair or makeup if you need it.”

Sylvain’s hips slam into her and she’s jerked up against the wall. Her noise of affirmation comes out almost as a squeak and Sylvain chuckles behind her palm. 

“Sounds good!” Ingrid says hurriedly. “I’ll see you later.”

She’s about to hang up when she hears Hilda’s final remark. 

“Tell Sylvain that I say hi!”

Ingrid ends the call and tosses her phone past Sylvain onto the couch. She tears her hand off his mouth as he thrusts into her hard again. Ingrid swears and flicks his shoulder as he pulls out, grinning. 

“Bastard,” she grumbles. 

“You love me,” he replies. He thrusts into her again, picking up his pace back to his previous rhythm and Ingrid whines. 

“You’re lucky I do,” she says breathily. “Just hurry up, okay? We don’t have long until call.”

Sylvain leans down and kisses her shoulder. “Done deal.”

Sylvain holds her hips firmly against the wall and starts to increase the intensity. Ingrid whimpers as he brushes something deep inside of her. Sylvain notes her noise of pleasure and continues the hard, fast, deep strokes, grunting as he does. Ingrid flattens back against the wall, basically trembling as he works into her. Her stomach is simmering hot and tight and she drops her hand between them to stroke at her own clit with shaky fingers. 

It only takes a few more strokes for her to come with a breathy moan, clamping her legs more tightly around his hips as she goes boneless, trembling against him. Sylvain’s high stamina apparently can’t carry him much longer as he leans against her four strokes later, as his legs shake and warmth floods the condom. 

Sylvain slowly lets her down to her feet and then strips off the condom, tying it off. Ingrid reaches up, smoothing out his hair and frowns. She rubs the faint pink mark on the side of his lips and sighs. 

“Well, you made a mess,” she grumbles. 

Sylvain just grins. “I don’t regret it.”

“You know Hilda totally knows, right?”

“Ingrid, we’re going to walk out there and everyone is going to know.”

Ingrid wrinkles her nose. “God, we fucking smell like sex now, don’t we?”

Sylvain kisses her forehead. “And your hair is a mess.”


End file.
